I Miss My Friend
by MischiefManagedKnox
Summary: . I was still holding on to the thought that she was coming home from the hospital today. That I was going to have her lie down in bed while I did everything for her. I was going to cook dinner for her, I was going to watch a movie with her. WHITE SEQUEL.


I Miss My Friend

** Hey everyone! Thanks for reviewing my other stories! I'm almost done with To the Death, but I wanted to go on and get the sequel to White started. I re-read White last night and got some ideas for the sequel. Here it is! I'm expecting it to be VERY sad, just a warning. Enjoy! Ron's POV**

The funeral was beautiful. There was a lot of pink. Too much pink, if you ask me. I was too sick with grief to help plan the funeral, so Ginny and Harry took initiative. I trusted them to make everything exactly the way Hermione would want it to be… and they used too much pink.

Pink is such a weird colour. Hermione's favourite colour was yellow. Why couldn't we have had a lot of yellow? Yellow flowers, a yellow dress…everything covered in yellow. Funerals are supposed to be about honoring and celebrating the life of the deceased. I don't think Hermione really would've appreciated a pink-filled funeral. Entirely too cliché, if you ask me. If a woman passes away and you don't know her favourite colour, you just automatically assume it was pink? It's the same with a man. Is a man's favourite colour automatically blue?

Well, I can tell you one thing, her favourite colour definitely wasn't black, and there was a whole lot more of that in the church than pink.

The morning of the funeral was the first time I'd talked to anyone in four days. I felt completely empty. I felt as if somebody had scooped my heart out of my chest. I never thought that I could lose her. I never thought of her as a mortal person. Somebody who could be hurt, somebody who could be killed. To me, she was never vulnerable. I felt like she would always be here, that she would never die. It never does seem that way. It never seems like the person you love most can vanish with the blink of an eye.

I checked her facebook frequently. Yes, it may come as a surprise, but Hermione did in fact have a facebook. I sat up for the first time in three days the other day and checked it. I thought it was going to make me feel better to see her pictures and all the things she's written. To see her in a happier time and to see her alive again.

All it did was piss me off. All it did was make me sick. It wasn't the pictures or the things she's written. It was the things other people had written on her page in the past three days. They wrote things like, "I'm going to miss you so much." And "I love you, and I'm praying for you." And "Have fun in Heaven, we'll see you soon! XOXOXO."

I wanted to throw up. These were people who NEVER spoke to her, who NEVER even met her and they had the nerve to write to her like they knew her? To write to her like they actually cared about her and loved her? No. It made me sick.

So I closed Hermione's laptop, never to look at it again.

I stayed at the burrow the first day. I couldn't go back home to that empty house. There were too many pictures, too many memories. I wasn't ready to go back to that life. I wasn't ready to remember her. I was still holding on to the thought that she was coming home from the hospital today. That I was going to have her lie down in bed while I did everything for her. I was going to cook dinner for her, I was going to watch a movie with her, I was going to get her whatever she needed to feel better. I wanted to hold her, I wanted to feel her asleep next to me, I wanted to hear her breathing just to know that she was still alive and that I was doing a good job at taking care of her.

But I failed. I wasn't going to have her lie down in bed. I was never going to cook dinner for her again. I was never going to watch a movie with her again. I was never going to get her whatever she needed to feel better again. I was never going to hold her again. I was never going to feel her sleeping next to me, or hear her breathing again. I had to face the cold truth.

_ Hermione was never coming home. _

Instead of lying down in bed with me, she was lying down in a freezing cold morgue. I told myself to stop thinking, I really tried to stop thinking, but I couldn't stop the "what if's" from entering my mind.

What if Hermione had survived? She was never going to feel good about herself again. Not with one leg. She would've been so self-conscious about it. At least she would still be alive.

What if she had never been shot? She was shot on our anniversary, so we would've gone out to dinner, come home and watched one of her romantic comedies. We would've danced like we did at our wedding, and then we would've fallen asleep together. I would've woken up before her the next morning and gone downstairs to make her breakfast.

My mind danced around these ideas for four days. I couldn't help but think about the shooter. How he was hired by Kingsley to go and murder Hermione. But what did he do after he shot her? He probably went home to his wife and kids without any remorse about what he had just done. About how he had just caused an entire family so much pain. An entire WORLD so much pain. The entire wizarding world was now mourning the loss of one of the golden trio. The girl who helped save the world.

She was 25 years old. They say that your 20's are supposed to be the best part of a person's life. That couldn't be further from the truth. Hermione's brother committed suicide just a week before she was murdered. Now, I'm going to die alone. Hermione would want me to re-marry, to have kids, to live a perfect life. But what she doesn't realize is that there is no perfect life without her.

All I could think about on that last day was how sick I was feeling. How awful it felt to lose the person who changed my life. I had gone back home to the house we shared. I kept my eyes angled to the floor as I passed the shelf of countless memories. I was doing pretty well until I got to the bedroom.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It felt as if I had left the real world and had fallen right into my worst nightmare.

The entire bedroom was destroyed. The mattress was ripped to pieces, as if someone had taken a knife to it. The mirror was shattered, along with the window and glass covered the floor. The curtains looked as though they had been put through a shredder. With tears glistening in my eyes, I looked at Hermione's bookshelf.

Every single book had its pages torn out and scattered all over the hard wood floor. Her beloved copy of Hogwarts: A History looked as though it had been through a fire, its cover burnt to a crisp, its pages now black ashes that danced around the cover, taunting me. I began to shake violently, feeling as if I were about to vomit.

The remaining pieces of my heart exploded with overwhelming fury and sadness when I looked at the ceiling above Hermione's side of the bed. Written in dark red spray paint were the most awful words I've ever seen.

_Filthy Mudblood._


End file.
